What Dreams May Come
by Snuffles2
Summary: Fate is a cruel creature, and mortality always has its way of winning. Eldarion thinks his father, mother, and Legolas as he recounts his understanding of love-and fear of death that holds his father in its clutches. (Aragorn/Arwen, Aragorn/Legolas)


Title: What Dreams May Come (Many thanks to Jess)  
  
Authoress: Snuffles  
  
Disclaimer: Not mine.  
  
Genre: Angst/Drama/Romance  
  
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Eldarion paced the outer room that led to his father's bedchamber. His sisters sat on one of the couches, their identical faces full of grief. He shot a glance at the door separating them from their father, but it stood closed, the dark wood from which it was made seemed like stone.   
  
Mortal. Fate. He had cursed both words in every language he knew-then used them all again to beg them to change the threat that the words held. But fate is not a kind creature, and mortality always has its way in the end.   
  
Behind the door of dark wood he knew a man, worn by age, lay in a large bed, fragile body cushioned by many pillows. The noble, just, wise King of Gondor-and the caring, compassionate, devoted man who had been his father. His father, who lay dieing.   
  
He and his sisters had known that the time was near for a many a day, and rarely had they left his side. His word of comfort did little to soothe the burning sorrow that clutched at their hearts, and they had all wept many tears, both of anger and grief.  
  
Eldarion paced quicker now, his feet not making a sound against the floor. Elven trait, whispered his mind, unbidden. Yes, elven trait. From his mother. The proud, beautiful elf who Eldarion had lost at the age of four. He looked towards his sisters, who sat with silent trails of tears coursing down their pale cheeks. It was said that they were mirror images of her, as they were mirror images of each other. Ironic, that the twins that resembled her so much had caused her death. Eldarion remembered being beside his mother's bed, as she convulsed in pain. The healers had tried to make him leave, but he refused, clutching the side of the bed, eyes echoed the worry that resided in his father's face. She had said something to Aragorn, as she lay panting, her blood spilling across the white sheets, but Eldarion could not remember what. All he did remember was his mother turning her ashen face towards him, eyes somehow calm, and said to him, "Take care of your sisters Eldarion, and also take care of your father. And know that I shall always love you."   
  
Her eyes had flickered shut then, and all was quiet. Then twin cries erupted, shattering the silence like a hammer shatters glass. Eldarion had left his mother's side then, and walked to the foot of the bed. Four eyes, colored a deep blue, stared at him from the basket, and the cries stopped. Dark hair covered their heads, and their skin was pale as porcelain. He looked at them, then at his father, who sat clutching Arwen's hand beside the bed, forceful sobs racking his body. It was the first time he had seen his father cry, and the last.  
  
For five years he remembered that his father always seemed far away, a smile never gracing his face, and never an emotion flickering in his eyes. He seemed to be in a permanent trance, unaffected by the world around him. Eldarion remembered that sometimes, when he and his sisters were in the family hall, that he would come in, and sit with them, wrapping his strong arms around them all, embracing them like they would disappear if he let go.  
  
Then, during the summer, when Eldarion was nine, a visitor came that changed everything. He remembered being in the throne room, listening to the ambassadors that came from far and wide. The herald announced that the Prince of Mirkwood had arrived. My father suddenly moved, eyes lighting up for the first time in five years. He stood up, no longer broken, nor aged, as the golden haired elf entered the room. Eldarion had been quite shocked at the elf's entrance, for while he had heard stories of his father's friend, he had never seen him before.   
  
Aragorn had strode down the steps without a word, catching the elf in a tight embrace. When they pulled apart a smile had appeared on the King's face. Eldarion remembered being filled with joy at seeing that smile, and from then on, he revered the one who had made his father smile.  
  
Legolas had stayed in Gondor, much to the joy of all the royal family, only leaving for short times to journey with his friend Gimli. His father had broken out of his trance, and life once again adorned his features. He laughed and played with the twins, and went on long rides with Eldarion, telling him long stories and tales of old. Legolas became as one of the family, teaching Eldarion the skill of knife work, and tutored the twins in archery, uncaring that they were female, and the fact that girls did not often learn to fight. He also spent many hours conversing with Aragorn, their talks full of laughter, and joy.  
  
It was when Eldarion was thirteen that Aragorn came to sit with him in the family hall, which was empty of all others. For a long time he sat in silence, staring into the fire, before turning to his son.  
  
"Eldarion?"   
  
"Yes Father?" Aragorn hesitated, looking away, much to the confusion of his young son.  
  
"I…..I have an important matter to speak to you about."   
  
"Yes?" Eldarion watched his father with a questioning expression.  
  
"I…I have fallen in love." Silence stretched between the two for a long period before Aragorn continued. "I…I have found that I love Legolas." Eldarion opened his mouth to speak, shock in his every feature, but his father interrupted. "Please, Eldarion, let me speak. And try to understand. I know it is not easy to hear that I have fallen in love with one that is not your mother." Eldarion closed his mouth, watching his father silently. "It took me long to recover from Arwen's death. I had never felt a love like what I felt towards her before, and never have again. I loved her, with all my heart and soul. I thought…I thought that I might be the first man to die of grief when she was torn from me. From us." He lapsed into silence for several more moments.  
  
"And yet, over the last few months, I felt love growing for the friend that had always been by my side. Not like the love between your mother and I, but one just as strong. He feels the same for me, and yet I fear to act upon it. I wish not to harm you, nor your sisters with my choice, and…and I do not wish to cause the death of another fair one. But my heart speaks louder than my conscience; may a thousand curses come to the greedy thing. I do not think I can bear to lose this love too, Eldarion. But if you do not wish it, I will not allow my heart to join with the one of Legolas." Aragorn had risen up then, crossing the room in brief strides.   
  
"Please, think upon it, and tell me your answer in the morning. But do not let your want of my happiness get in the way-follow your heart." With that he left, leaving the young half-elf to his thoughts.  
  
He lapsed into sleep, not bothering to leave the family hall, and dreamed.  
  
He was atop one of the balconies that overshadowed the garden that had been built for his mother. It was filled with the most beautiful of flowers, all at full blossom. In the center of the maze of bushes sat his father and Legolas, lips locked in a fierce, yet gentle passion. He stared at them for quite awhile, unsure whether to yell at them to stop, or to leave them to their joy. He realized then, that he was not alone in his watching.  
  
He turned to the Elven lady beside him. She was tall and beautiful, dark hair cascading in waves down her shoulders and back. Her skin was like pale porcelain, and a white dress clung to her slender frame. She smiled down at the pair in the garden, then turned to lock her deep blue eyes with Eldarion's stormy gray ones. A single word escaped his lips.  
  
"Momma?" She smiled at him, gently tucking a stray wisp of her son's dark hair behind one slightly pointed ear.  
  
"Good morning. By the Valar, have you grown. Who would of thought my little prince would have turned out so handsome." Eldarion did not speak, but threw himself into his mother's arms, breathing in her flowery scent.   
  
They did not speak for a long time, until Eldarion let go of her enough to gaze at the couple in the garden, who had parted lips and were now staring deeply into each other's eyes. Arwen followed his gaze, and smiled.   
  
"Are they not the cutest pair?" Eldarion turned back to stare at his mother.  
  
"You are not angry with them?" Arwen laughed, the amusement in her voice ringing like silver bells.  
  
"Angry? Nay, I could not be angry with them. They have found joy, like the joy that your father and I had during the days I lived. You think that the love of Legolas that Aragorn has makes him love me less, and me love him less." Eldarion looked deeply into the eyes of his mother, and found nothing but joy within. Arwen smiled again, pressing her lips against her son's forehead.   
  
"Now my little one, it is time to wake up."   
  
Eldarion had been dragged back to the world of the waking, the light of dawn filling his eyes. He had risen then, understanding the words of his mother's spirit, and had gone to seek his father.  
  
"Eldarion, you need to rest." The soft spoken words of his sister brought him back to the present. He looked at her with sad eyes, then back at the door. Legolas had entered some time ago, and had not yet came out. A shadow lay across his heart, and it terrified him.   
  
"I must go check on them…"  
  
"Eldarion…"  
  
"No, I cannot wait any longer." With two purposeful strides he crossed to the door, hesitating for only a second before pushing it open. He entered the room, suddenly slowing, the shadow growing darker.   
  
Nothing but silence greeted him as he crossed to the bed. His father lay, face still and peaceful, as if he did no more then sleep. Legolas sat in a chair beside the bed, his head resting on one of the pillows, eyes closed. The silver trail of a single tear coursed down Legolas's pale cheek. One long hand lay limp in the old king's, the other lay unmoving on the bed.  
  
"He's gone, isn't he Legolas?" Eldarion's voice was soft, and tears once again began to fall from his stormy gray eyes. The elf did not stir at his voice, yet the half-elf knew the answer. "Was he happy Legolas? Happy when he died?" He looked down at the elf, whose hair spilled around him like a golden halo. "Legolas?" Suddenly fear clutched his heart, crashing with the sorrow that already held it. "Legolas? Legolas?" He grabbed the hand that lay prone on the bed, and then dropped it as he felt the deathly cold that surrounded it. "No…not you too…no…" He had expected his father's death, as much as he hated to the thought, and had been prepared. But he hadn't been prepared for this.   
  
He breathed in sharply, the sharp scent of death fouling his nose. Tears came harder, and his thoughts ran in panic. The elf that had been his close friend and mentor, now lay dead beside his lover, face still beautiful and timeless even as a corpse. Eldarion spun from the room, a strangled cry erupting from his throat as both the sorrow of his father's death and Legolas's clutched at his heart.   
  
He slammed the door behind him, causing his sisters to stare at him in shock and sorrow. He closed his eyes, willing it all to be a bad dream; a nightmare from which the lark outside his window would wake him from. He stumbled then to his sisters' embraces, and they sat there, silent, unmoving, until the dawn was upon them, and the healers came to carry the body of their King and his love away.  
  
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Two spirits walked down the marble stairs, one dark haired and rugged, the other golden haired and unearthly fair. They walked, one calloused hand wrapped around one long, pale one. They walked downwards for a long time, neither speaking nor turning towards each other. At the bottom of the stairs stood an Elven maid, beautiful and fair as the golden haired spirit. She smiled up at them, arms opened wide to embrace them both tightly, her slender lips leaving a kiss upon the dark haired spirit's mouth.   
  
"Welcome home." The three spirits left the stairs, hand in hand, and entered the halls of Mandos with great delight. 


End file.
